


Daughter of the Farriage

by Kidatash



Category: Earthsea - Ursula K. Le Guin
Genre: Being Lost, Developing Friendships, Exploration, Family, Family Feels, Father Figures, Father-Daughter Relationship, Female Character of Color, Female Protagonist, Friendship, Home, Islands, Mages, Magic, Magic-Users, Male Character of Color, Male Friendship, Male Protagonist, Male-Female Friendship, Mother-Daughter Relationship, Other, Platonic Female/Male Relationships, Rescue, Shipwrecks, Sorcerers, Stranded, Strangers, Travel, Unexpected Visitors, Witchcraft, Wizards, World Travel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-01
Updated: 2020-11-01
Packaged: 2021-03-09 02:27:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 13,674
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27327325
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kidatash/pseuds/Kidatash
Summary: It was a normal day for Aerwyna, a young girl from the island of Hille who spends her days upon the shores. Where when she isn't collecting shells to weave into tools and jewelry, dreaming of the tales her father would tell her of heroes and voyages, stories of great wizards and the journeys they would embark on. She would spend her days assisting her father in his craft of boat-making. After which they'd retreat to their isolated cottage within the sea cliffs, where they'd tend to her ill mother. Until that fateful day, she always thought of Wizards as nothing but legends,told by her father. True tales of faces many had encountered, including her father himself as a child, but tales nonetheless. That is until one morning, upon the aftermath of a storm, she would end up finding a shipwrecked boat, caught within one of the rocky ruins of cliffs. And along with it, washed up on the shore hidden among them, the ship's master. A young wizard, by the name of Sparrowhawk.





	1. Life Within The Bay

It was quiet on the shores of Hille, as the star speckled sky slowly faded from its gradient of purples and indigos into a light milky blue. The waning moon gazing over at the stone and debris strewn ruins of the bay as the sea bashed against the bay line, the tide higher than usual. 

Yet for as unnavigable the bay seemed at such a high tide. As the foamy waters would engulf the bay to where the sand and stone was invisible with the exception of a few rocks and stones. Before it would retract and engulf the shore again. 

Yet it never seemed to deter the tiny figure that manoveured nimbly among the sand and stone. A pair of lithe, delicate feet encrusted in a thin layer of sea sand, stepping among the ruins of the bay. The girl's thin linen dress caught in the waves of the tide as she navigated the strip elegantly. As if she was like a dancer intricately making her way through a ceremonial dance. 

The pale, wornout blue of her dress almost blending into seafoam of the farriage as its short hem gourged itself on salt water. To many upon first sight, it was obvious the young girl was what some would consider a friend of the sea. To many of Hille a solitary soul that scouted the shore around her as if the waters of the farraige was her own family. 

Especially as of now, that the girl was the only soul, wandering the rocky bay at dawn. The milky blue and pale yellow sky opening up for a great sun the colour of gold as it shone on the lone figure scouring the sand for seashells. Which cast a great shadow in the sand behind her.She had a bag full of her freight already, many of which filled with seaglass, shells and fragments of such from the day before.

So she could carry on with the tedious but calm and therapeutic task of weaving these little gifts of the sea into jewelry. This slow yet relaxing task a daily routine for her, and one she enjoyed. Yet, the girl couldn't help but feel uneasy, concerned this time. Even if in the end, she just dismissed it as strange feeling, most defintely the cold anxiety of another storm approaching and laying ruin on her home once again.

Breathing in the salt laden air, she scanned the horizon further for any sign of her father's fishing boat, bobbing ever so slightly and peacefully upon the gentle waves. A breath of relief escaping her as she thanked the sea once again, for keeping her father safe. To which, she navigated the rocky bay further, planting her burlap full of shells and other seaside fragments by a small walled in alcove within the bay's stone lining. Before she turned and climbed up the vast shards of rock like a small yet lilthe mountain goat. 

Her feet patting against the sandy ground as she snuck her way into the trees. Sand turning into soil and twigs as she gingerly filed inwards until she reached the top of a small collapsed in seaside cliff. She smiled contentedly, gently and carefully making her taking a seat on the edge of it where she swung in her grim laden feet.

Her warm ox brown eyes watching the sun as it rose calmly above the horizon, all while thick and tangled ink like hair whipped against her back in the sea draught as she dreamt of heroes and voyages. The sun gradually warming up the icy water around her just enough to forge the conditions for a good swim. A offer which, upon looking into the peaceful endless blue, she took up eventually.

As she stood, the hem of her dress still soaked, and leapt into the water like a young dolphin. Paddling and stroking around contently in the water as she pictured herself as a great siren, gracefully swimming around from island to island before stripping off the skin of her tail at will to explore.

But alas, all she knew was Hille, and the bays and cliffs, trees, springs, farms and every domain, every fragment of it she could explore, and could do so thoroughly, that belonged to it. She was needed here after all, to look after all she had. Though even as a young girl, she couldn't help but occupy her thoughts of the great voyages of heroes and travellers from tales told from her father. 

Though, it didn't take long for her thoughts to be disturbed by call upon the horizon. The young girl raising her head from her position to scan the horizon, seeing a fishing vessel of cedar and wornout driftwood making its way into the bay from the distance.

"Aerwyna!"

Smiling softly in relief, she swam back to the cliff's lip. Her warm coppery brown skin bronzed by the ocean sun as she climbed out and made her way upon it.

"Aerwyna!?"

Her small lithe frame only stopped as she stood atop the collapsed stone and cupped her hands over the sides of her mouth.

"Coming Papi!"

She exclaimed softly, running off into the woods and bay until she scrambled her way down the bay wall to the shore. Her brown eyes scanning the shoreline as she walked down the bay in her wet blue dress, the colour of cornflower now. The girl making sure to fetch her freight full of shells as she waited for the boat to come in. Eventually walking into the shallows as it docked so she could help bring in the vessel with her father.

The tall dark coppery brown giant of a man next to her as they pushed it gently on shore. To which they looked over at eachother, smiling slightly through the strain. 

"Aerwyna! Dear, you know what I said about swimming when I'm out like that."

He chided her, which prompted a audible sigh from the girl. 

"But Papa! I couldn't help it."

"I know, which is why I'm saying it's best to wait."

He responded,somewhat playfully, before he let out a hearty chuckle. The boat now resumed back into its position onto the shore of the bay. The man dusting off his worn cotton breeches from the sand, before he pulled out a basket full of fish from under the sternsheets of his boat.

"Lord, I could've sworn you're more siren than you ever were human. With how much time you spend in the water."

He teased, as she helped secure the oars and pull out the second basket full of its aquatic load. A soft, cheery laugh, like the soft sound of the tinkling of a ship bell as she looked over at him, gently and playfully hitting his arm.

"Papa!"

She whined coltishly. Another somewhat puckish laugh escaping her father's lips as he heaved the heaviest of the baskets over his shoulder. Afterwhich, she put her burlap in the second basket and picked up hers, her sand encrusted feet walking after him.

"Well...I don't mind it. If anything I was exactly the same you are now when I was your age. Always out by the sea, speaking to it. It's why I chose to live as a fisher, and a craftsman crafting vessels that'll accompany her, navigate her. It just felt right to live out the rest of my life on the water. So to be frank it never surprised me that'd I'd end up with a daughter that'd share my love for it."

He assured lightly but rather wearily, his leather sandals disturbing the beach sand under him as Aerwyna followed him off towards a small seaside cliff. 

"Do you have any more stories of that time? Papa?"

"Oh, plenty! A lot of travellers come by here before. Even some wizards."

"Wizards?"

She questioned softly, her father's dark eyes eventually landing on a row of stone and wood laden steps, hewn into the cliff.

"Oh yes! I remember the day my father and I ended up having an encounter with one. A brilliant man, carried this great staff of silver and dogwood. I remember he came by us for food and shelter on his way to shore after travelling around inland. Something which we gladly did, even if we never had much."

He answered contently as they made their way up the steps, all while he continued wistfully.

"I remember that year or so, it was a terrible year for us. We had no good wood for boats that year, as the trees in the lower half of the bay were ill and unsuitable for a safe vessel. Yet, after that man came by, the trees in the bay grew healthier than ever, and all the vessels we made that year came to become some of the strongest vessels we've ever created. And oh, Aerwyna, you should've heard what stories he had. He spent that entire night in our hut, telling us children the most wonderful stories."

A soft giggle escaped Aerwyna while she listened as they made the steep journey towards their location. A comfortable silence as Aerwyna followed him carrying the basket of her own. They looked at eachother once more as he smiled softly and paused to scan the cliff. Until the girl eventually broke the warm silence with another gentle question.

"What was he like then? You remember any of the tales he told you?"

She asked, a pondering silence coming out of him until his lips parted to give yet another wistful answer.

"I was too young to remember him, beyond the fact he was a stern man, but a kindly and wise one at that too. I think I was afraid of him at first honestly, with how stern he was. And his tales, I can't remember all of them either, and the ones I do I already told you."

"Oh Papa..."

She whined jokingly, opening the door for him and helping him bring in his basket full of fish. Their home was small, but cosy, nestled between the stones,trees and sand on the foot of a small seacliff. Its windows gazing out at the crystal like water like eyes from its perch. The cottage only accessible by a set of wood laden stone steps hewn into the cliff.

For the most part it was nothing more but a giant room with thin planks of wood walling off a section of it into two much smaller rooms. The large room of which smelt heavily of juniper and sage mingling with fish and seaweed drying out over the hearth. The only furnishings in the room a loom, baring a work in progress,various chests, pots,vases and stools and benches decorated with cattle hides and the pelts of wolf fur for comfort. 

The walls glistening with fine delicate necklaces and decorative nets of pearls,shells,carven driftwood and sea glass hooked up with the woolen tapestries that decorated the main room. Her father sighed tiredly as he sat down on a bench to rest, his legs worn from the journey up the cliff. His sharp eagle like eyes glintly wearily like shards of obsidian as he stared at the hearth. Where Aerwyna was putting a small cauldron on the stand over it in preparation for a breakfast of savoury porridge and smoked fish. 

She smiled softly at him, chuckling softly as he took out his carving knife and a small slab of driftwood and slicing carefully into it. She brought the cauldron to boil, before sitting beside him, watching his long and calloused fingers work. Her fingers unconsciously reaching for his hair and braiding the thick inky strands tangled with his fingers, much to his protest. 

"Arewyna, you know you don't hav-"

her father muttered softly until the girl cut him off comfortingly.

"It's okay Papi! It's been a long morning. Think you could use a moment of a moment of peace after..."

She crooned half energetically. When, that silence between them returned again. Though as she weaved the long strands into a thick rope of hair, the comforting essence of it has slowly to evaporate into concern. Especially as her father paused from his carving and turned his head to the walled off room next to them. His face slightly worn with age, like a man who had seen alot for his age. Yet in that moment as he'd contort it in concern, it felt like it had aged tens of years more.

"You think she'll get better? Right Papa?"

She questioned, worried. The stone cold silence taking over the room once more. Her father emanated a soft draft of air as he tried to force a slight, thin smile. Though he could tell Aerwyna could see his smile was strained. 

"....I believe so..."

He consoled. But it did little to comfort Aerwyna as she paused and let go of his hair. The loose braid of hair done as it sprawled down her father's back. His eyes still on the room as she rested her hands on her lap.

"....But...I don't know."

She muttered, a soft sigh escaping her as she went to tend to the cauldron, even if her father moved from his position to attempt tending to the cauldron first. The girl muttering softly as she dug around in one of the chests behind her before she pulled out three wooden bowls and plates. She stirred the porridge lightly, laddling some into a bowl and putting it down on a plate to cool. 

To which she set up the remaining two similarly and laddled some further into the remaining three. Aerwyna reaching out for one of the smoked fish hanging from the twine above the hearth smoke. Before she sat down and split the fish up in half, placing one half of each smoked portion on the plates of two bowls. The one bowl getting passed onto her father, who accepted it reluctantly. The other bowl, stood to the side to cool getting picked up and taken to the room behind him. 

Aerwyna making sure to check the termperature with a little finger as she stirred through it with a ivory spoon. Her bare feet patting against the floor boards as she sat next to the wooden cot in a high stool. To which, she turned to the thin and frail woman lying within it under a blanket of woolen quilts and animal pelts for warmth, disturbed. Her hair spread out over her pillow like tendrils of blacken silk as Aerwyna stirred her, gently and quietly. 

"Mama..."

She muttered softly, holding her mother's hand as she rested the plate in her lap carefully. Her mother letting out a strained breath as Aerwyna gently sat her up. The girl set the plate with the bowl in it on her lap vigilantly. But the woman has grown so weak she barely had any strength to hold her spoon steadily. Much less tend to her meal, to which Aerwyna assisted her attentively. Though she could only go so far until her mother slumped back into her bed of quilts and pelts. Aerwyna taking it as a somber sign to put the bowl into her lap and readjust the woman so she could rest.

Her delicate hand pressed gingerly against her mother's forehead to check her temperature. She had been fine when Aerwyna left her that morning, silent and peaceful in her sleep. Yet as she sat there it was as if her condition deteriorated almost instantly. Her body as hot as the timber laid down at the bottom of the wreath. Yet as cold as the icy waters of the winter sea. And as she sat there, alone with her mother, she could feel the last bit of hope evaporating out of her. As if it was slowly and painfully being put out like a stray flame.

Eventually, the girl being accompanyed by her father, sitting next to her on another stool. His large, calloused hand placed onto his wife's as he squeezed it gently. The man bringing it up to his forehead where he held it gently, placing it down as he ran his fingers over her knuckles. They sat there in silence, but the sort of heavy disquiet of a man speaking to his lover, and his family, in a way where no words were needed. But he did it so in a way that those silent words that never escaped his lips came out as a possible good bye. It wasn't long until her father got up solemnly, quietly chidding Aerwyna to come with him so they could let his wife sleep. 

"Soon...My little seahorse, I promise she'll get better."

He muttered softly, wrapping his arm around her as he saw the girl's face fall. The pair, sharing nothing but a further bout of silence, attempting to partake in their own meal once Aerwyna put aside her mother's. Though the girl didn't seem to eat anything at all. Even when her father attempted to distract her, once again, with stories. Tales of heroes and voyages, Erreth Akbe and Elfarran and various other stories he had told many a time before. 

All the while the rising sun reflected off the ocean outside as if it was made of crystal. Aerwyna's dark eyes gazing out at the farraige's expanse below. Her fine hands fiddling with her spoon as she absentmindedly stirred through her food. All while the day eventually evaporating into a normal day as she set to work, helping her father at his craft as he tended to another boat he had created. 

The warm, almost white sun beating down on them as they worked upon setting up the mast. At least until the clouds in various shades of whites and greys started to roll in. The farriage, which was so mild and calm before, slowly changing temperament. Which prompted the pair to once again retreat inside. 

Her father telling stories all the way, even as he'd resume back to carving up charms and figurines as Aerwyna started drilling holes delicately into shells and pearls before webbing them into necklaces. A soft comforting warmth enveloping the home as they talked. Which helped comfort the young girl immensely. All the while the clouds continued packing up outside, ready for another storm.


	2. The Tempest

It wasn't until that evening when the heavens opened up, at first as a particularly heavy bout of rainfall. To which father and daughter took it upon themselves to move their vessels farther inland to the bay. Aerwyna taking particular care to roping them up to the trees, in case the bay was engulfed by the sea again. 

Yet as they climbed up the steps to their home nestled out within seacliffs, the downpour kept giving heavier and heavier. The sky inflicting its silent tempest upon the seas. An occasional crack of life boomed out into the expanse of the world around the cottage. A slight flash of bright light accompanying the occasional peal of thunder. 

But, even with the din of the outside seeping into the cottage, the cottage felt peaceful. Aerwyna making her way around it as she made sure all the windows were closed. Which did nothing but encompass them into their home further. Before she settled down with her weaving by the loom. Her small, slender hands moving through the dyed threads the colour of a choir of bluebirds as if it was second nature to her.

All while her father tended to the hearth, singing softly. A gentle stream of song ringing out into the rest of the cottage. As if the tall man's deep and gentle voice was attempting to lull the storm asleep. A sound which deeply comforted the girl and infused her with a soft, all consuming warmth. The young girl peeking out from behind her loom as he chanted softly and rhythmically a woven tale of sorcerers and prophetesses. His voice like a heartbeat as it engulfed the room. Before he finished and the last remains of his chanting died out. To which he began to sing again, more melodic this time, a small fable of an forsaken islander.

He had only stopped when he had brought their supper of fish stew to a simmer, and as they ate he had grown especially quiet. Aerwyna couldn't blame him. Her father wasn't young, not by any extend, but he wasn't old either. Yet as she stared at into dark eagle like eyes, she could've swore he had become years older in a day through the hearth light. 

Though his face still remained rugged, yet, personable and the same as it had the day before. But even as he noticed her gaze, to which she turned away and stirred through her food, there was nothing but silence. So they continued to eat together in the eerie stillness. While occasionally interrupted by nature's blustery chorus of thunder. 

It didn't take long for the girl to finish, going off to tend to her mother again. Her mother still asleep, unstirred underneath the covers. To which she simply decided to leave her be. The girl spending the rest of the evening helping her father silently tend to the cottage. Before she eventually settled down to working on her craft again. Aerwyna tending further to the loom before she ran out of orange thread, to which she had taken to weaving new jewelry. 

A relaxing task for her, as she drilled thin holes into pearls and shells and delicately wove them into the thin strands of rope and thread she spun out for them. Her loom half full and the walls glinting with newly woven nets of pearls and shell laden necklaces by the time she grew weary enough to rest.

Her father already having fallen asleep by the hearth, resting his head against a set of pelts propped up against one of the benches. She smiled softly and kissed his forehead goodnight.

"Goodnight Papi..."

She muttered softly before retiring to her own quarters. Aerwyna not even bothering to change out of her worn blue dress as she moved to the room next door. Where the girl, quiet and weary, laid within her cot, to which, she was lulled asleep by the lullaby of the sea, crashing wildly against the rocks and cliffs below their feet. Aerwyna eventually greeted by dreamless sleep.

All the while the scenery within the wide expanse of the ocean was not as peaceful, as the waves kept bobbing up and down at staggering heights, as if the sea itself was breathing. Each titanious wave after another crashing into the small boat trying to navigate them. The waters heaving it and rolling it around within the waves that it nearly engulfed the vessel whole numerous times. To the point where the only thing that stick out of the surf was the mast and the prow,with its white painted eyes staring out at the world around it.

Though it never stopped the man who'd hide away in the stern from now and then coming out to fight the saltwater around him. The voyager's staff hopelessly in hand as his hand was grasped around it so tightly, his knuckles went nearly white from the strain. He had attempted everything, shouting out at the storm a foriegn word, the names of the wind and the sky and the sea that touched Hilde's shores. The ship's master trying helplessly to tame the seas, atleast enough for him to cross over into what he hoped was land. 

But to no avail. He attempted again to speak, but no sound came out as the waves hit him again, nearly knocking him off his boat. Boat and master getting tumbled about by the waves, until the young mage could get peace enough to re-adjust his grip around his staff and wipe the rain and sea water off his scarred face. His hair flying wildly in the mixture of wind and sea spray as he wearily took his stance. 

The mage attempted again to calm the cloudburst about him, weary and exhausted from not just his travel but his attempts to do so. But it was a hopeless effort, falling onto deaf ears. As the tempest proved to be too strong, or at least too out of control for him to take hold of fully. He had been tired, weary and exhausted from his voyage before he could even cross paths with the merciless waters before him. 

To which he sighed, and braced himself, focusing all the energy he had left on keeping his vessel afloat. The man hoping to atleast escape this alive, much less whole. But it didn't take long for the strain to get to him and the exhaustion to take over him. His stance growing weaker and weaker by the moment as he stood his ground with staff in hand.

Until a particularly large wave of saltwater rose over him, the mage only having enough time to look up at it, before it crashed over him. The wave officially knocking the man and his staff into the cold freezing deep. He gasped as he swam frantically to the surface, his short cloak floating about in the water like a sting ray. His knuckles bone white around his staff as he attempted to feel around for his boat. Only to be hit by another surge of saltwater. The wave sprawling him further into the freezing and body numbing depths. 

Though his determination remained strong as he swam back frenetically, trying his best to stay afloat. Yet even with will power alone he wasn't strong enough to keep up with the strength of the sea. The mage eventually passing out completely when he was hit once again. Eventually getting lost to the waves before he had started to drift towards shore. His mind in a hazy, vaguely dreamless fog, barely hanging onto his consciousness.  
The only sound around him that of the waves breaking against eachother and everything else they could touch. He felt, cold, his fingers and feet numb. Though it still didn't change just how tired he felt. His body so tired, he couldn't help but give up and rest. 

To which he closed his eyes, taking a breath of oxygen everytime the waves turned him over to the surface before holding it in as the tempest sent him into the depths again. He continued to do so, as if it was second nature. The man taking in enough to satisfy his body's will to live, but not enough to stifle off the painful deprivation he felt shaking his lungs. Until his lungs eventually giving up on themselves as he was washed ashore on a rough embankment of rock, sand and salt. His cloak wrapped around him as his chest rose and fall weakly while his staff washed up on shore a distance away a while after.


	3. Washed Ashore

When Aerwyna awoke again, the last remainders of the storm had slowly but surely started to recede. The sky a pale milky blue as the sun shone through a white and grey drapery of clouds hanging in the atmosphere. But when she left her room, grabbing a comb made out of shell to brush through her hair, her father had already left, as routine in the morning. 

The only sign of his presence the absence of his tools and the disturbed remains of pelts by the bench he was sleeping against. Her heart skipped a beat, concerned for him, her bare feet padding against the floorboards as she opened the door and made her way down the steps. 

Upon finding the bay empty of not just his fishing boat but the newly finished vessel they had crafted the day before, she turned to the farriage. Where his fishing boat bobbed ever so slight and calmly on the waves in the distance. She had been concerned about the wave's temper as a remainder of the storm. Yet the water was calm, gentle, the sea seemed to pose no harm.

As if the waters itself could listen to her pleas to keep her father safe, and commands to bring in what they needed. Upon a sigh of relief, she had taken it upon herself to tend to the bay once again. Her nimble frame stepping further more among the ruins of stone as she scoured the beach of further debris. Before she had perched herself on a particularly large rock, resting her feet in the water as the tide washed off the sand on them. 

Her eyes serenely on the bay as her father sailed back with not just the new boat but another vessel as well. Both of which appear to require extensive repairs. The second vessel staring at her solemnly with the two eyes painted on itS prow. That was when she got up from her cold and heavily rigid perch, careful not to slip on its damp surface. She helped dock them with her father's assistance, scowling further when they brought the second boat in. 

What worried her though, is not the terrible condition it was in, but rather the absence of its owner. For she didn't see how a boat lost in sea, couldn't have ended up there without a master to stir it. She stared at it uneasily, before looking over at her father. His long black braid moving around like a snake against his back as he tended to it.

"Well, I don't have much of an explanation but, the ship was getting away, so might as well bring it in."

"...Any sign of a owner?"

Her father shook his head remorsefully, looking down at the same beneath him. 

"No...no sign at all. I presume them lost..."

Aerwyna felt a slight pang in her heart as she looked over at the vessel again,saddened. They tended to the newer boat further, the girl helping her father fix what damage he could at that moment. The second vessel, with its eyes now gazing into the bay, remaining as it is. As her father willingly let it be, until with luck, its owner washed ashore, persumably for a proper burial. 

If not, to be fixed and released back into the sea with what little offerings they had out of respect. Before she sighed and climbed up the shore, off to her usual spot on the lower seacliffs as a distraction. Her plans focused completely on exploring the little plateaus of rock and sand tucked away within the chunks of cliffs. Perhaps a cave or more if the girl was lucky. Aerwyna traversing the rocks carefully before she got to where she had to wade through certain sections due to the high tide. 

Until, upon one of the margins of sand tucked about within the cliffs, she found something peculiar. A long, wooden staff, encrusted in sand, still damp from its journey from the sea as it lay there, seemingly forgotten. The rod of wood nearly matching the description of yhe ones she heard about in her father's tales. She looked at it, surprised, even more quiet than she already was. Her hands hesitant to even touch it, much less pick it up, in case it was really what she thought it was. The girl only picking it up carefully and reluctantly as the sea attempted to wash it away into the ocean. 

She sighed and set it aside in a safe place, in order to retrieve it later, she continued to explore. Aerwyna thought back to that boat her father had brought in, with the eyes painted into its prow. Her mind slowly weaving a tale of a wizard, possibly, lost at sea in a great storm. The girl trying to figure out the events leading up to that boat being lost at sea alone to be found by a weary craftsman, retrieving a boat of his own.

But she eventually snapped herself out of it, convincing herself that's not the case. All those tales, they're just legends and tales, gifted to her family through chance by a rare encounter with such a person. Perhaps that staff had been nothing but a rod of driftwood that was washed ashore by the storm. The boat perhaps originally owned by a lost soul who was a lot like her father. 

The girl pausing slightly as she spotted what looked like a body a distance away. A gasp escaping the girl, as she ran towards it, finding it to be a man, his chest still rising and falling shallowly. She examined him for injuries, in case he got caught up by the rocks littering the shore. As she looked, his clothing remained untorn where injuries otherwise would've been and with the exception of four old claw like scars, embedded deep into the side of his face, she had found nothing. She knelt before him, moving away his freezing,damp cloak hastily to check for a pulse. 

The man was cold, paralysed and hypothermia ritten, almost near death. But she was thankful to have still felt his pulse as she sat in the sand and felt for it along his neck. Though, it too, felt shallow. A shudder running down his spine as she pressed her fingers gingerly against it. It was then that she called her father, frantically. Aerwyna getting up to cup her hands against the sides of her mouth to yell at the expanse behind her. To which she eventually got a response, and, her father had taken to climbing about the cliffs after her. 

By then it wasn't long until the man let out a large cough, as he hacked up the ocean water that had made it into his system. The salt laden liquid burning his throat and irritating it as he opened his eyes wearily. His eyes dark, and otherwise sharp like shards of onyx, but his gaze weak. All while he closed his eyes again feebly as he passed out again. Aerwyna's father gazing over at him blankly once he got to the margin effortfully, before realising the situation. To which he quickly made his way over to his daughter and the stranded man. The craftsman kneeling next to the unconscious body once he reunited with the girl, pressing his fingers against the stranger's neck to once again check his pulse. A look of panic spreading across the older man's face as he waved his daughter aside to give him space.

Her father's arms picking him up carefully  
yet heavily arduously before he heaved him stably over his shoulder. The man going through another bout of coughing and hacking as he did so, exuding more saltwater from his lungs. But the craftsman didn't seem to care, as long as he got the stranger to safety. Aerwyna scurrying after him and helping him carry the stranger over the expanse of sand and encarpment that littered the area around them. The craftsman panting tiredly once they got to their section of the bay. 

Though they didn't stop until they got him into the cabin in the safety of the hearth's warmth. To which he set him down immediately on the bench and chased Aerwyna off to get a quilt, further wrapping him up in the blankets and pelts that was already littered around the bench. Afterwhich he took one of his daughter's quilts from her and held it by the hearth to warm it up. Before he threw it over the man, making sure it covered him almost completely. The stranger shuddering softly as he did so. 

That evening, Aerwyna had spent some tending to both the ill in their home. Her small thin hands stroking her mother's hair out of her face as she helped the woman lie down to sleep again. A bowl of stew on the girl's lap as she sat with her. Aerwyna becoming increasingly worried as she gently brushed her hand against her mother's forehead, finding her temperature still high and worryingly warm. She sighed softly and kissed her forehead gently as she got up with the bowl, leaving the room. Aerwyna putting it down next to her own.

The girl immediately going over to tend to the stranger laid out on the bench once she had finished caring for her mother. Her father pressing his fingers against his neck gently to check his pulse once again, appearing somewhat relieved yet still concerned upon finding it stronger, but still shallow.

"What is it?" 

The girl asked.

"The freezing sickness..."

He replied, solemnly. The craftsman sitting back, picking up his bowl of stew and dried fish and placing it on his lap, though he didn't touch his meal at all. His dark eyes on their new guest as he sighed softly and opened his mouth to speak.

"I...I don't understand though. By the looks of it, he has been there for hours if not more than a day he..he should've been dead."

He muttered, astonished and concerned. Aerwyna looking over at them perturbed, before making her way over to them, sitting next to her father. 

"Is it really that bad?"

She inquired further, reaching over to feel his forehead with the back of her hand, finding him relatively cold still. A shiver went down her spine as she retreated her hand quickly, as if she had laid her hand on sheet of ice, rather than skin.

"Yes....I'm just praying he'll make it through the night. I think he's stable now, I'm not a healer and I don't want to beseech a healer now. At least until next morning."

He responded, softly, as if too afraid to disturb the silence. She sighed softly, readjusting a pelt of fox fur over him gingerly, though hesitantly, as to make sure she didn't touch his skin. The craftsman looked at her with a furrowed brow, watching her as she scooted over to her father and hugged her knees to her chest. She sighed out softly in the silence reaching out to her own meal to eat as her father partook in his, chewing a bit of smoked fish. But she barely touched hers, instead, staring over at the stranger uneasily. To which he stopped and held onto her shoulder, squeezing it gently.

"...Hopefully he'll make it.... he made it this far. So I believe so."

He muttered, Aerwyna smiling slightly as she reached out her hand to his, holding it gently. 

"....I Hope..."

She responded quietly. To which she let the words evaporate into a mist of silence. The only sound taking over the room the sound of the crackling hearth fire as she stirred through her food, leaning into her father. All while they went through their usual routine before, eventually retiring for the night. Even if the girl couldn't sleep at all as she lay in her cot, fiddling with the hem of her shift. Her dark, doe like eyes staring into the darkness until eventually sleep came over her, Aerwyna slowly surrendering to it. Where she'd eventually walk into the land of dreams.


	4. The Awakened Stranger

The sun streamed through the window in thin beams of weak light, illuminating the dust in the air like fine specks of the sun's embers. Heat encompassing the cottage as the craftsman tended to the dying hearth. To which, he ignited it back to life, using the fresh timber nestled into the circle of stone. His dark eyes, weary, yet discerning as he gazed out of the window over to the waves. The clouds still hanging heavy in the sky, albeit not thick enough to stifle out the morning sun. 

Though the lour hidden within them still felt like a menacing threat of the weather to come. A slight scowl on the man's face, before he looked over at the stranger. Eventually interrupted by the cottage door opening to the sound of small, nimble feet walking in with a staff tabbing on the floorboards after them. The sound of the wooden rod against the wooden floor somewhat causing the stranger to stir. 

Aerwyna looked at them curiously, resting it in the corner. To which she walked over to the bench, her hand reluctantly brushing against the man's forehead. Her tense hand slacking up slowly upon finding his skin, warm, stable and normal. Not as cold and clammy as it had that previous night. To her he actually felt alive, human. 

"What will we do when he wakes up?"

She asked, holding back a chocked gasp and pulling away her hand quickly and timidly as he stirred further. The man's brow furrowing slightly as he turned towards her touch. Her father holding onto the window frame as he turned back to look out into the sea. 

"Well.... I don't want to send you into the village alone,atleast not now. So I'm afraid I'll have to go down to fetch the healer first. When he wakes up,I need you to please keep an eye on him to make sure he is stable. Okay? Give him food and drink if need to as well, I imagine he hasn't eaten in a while. Which doesn't help his condition."

Aerwyna sighed and nodded, watching her father resume to work as he set up the hearth for their usual breakfast of porridge. The craftsman setting the cauldron over the hearth to boil before getting up and going into their shared quarters. To which he left with a pair of thin leather buckskin boots and a thick cloak made of wool and bear pelt. Her father combing his long black hair with a shell made comb, pulling it into a low, neat ponytail. 

"See you later my love."

He said softly with a slight smile, walking over to her and kissing her forehead as she looked up at him.

"Later Papi."

She responded warmly before he walked out of the door, down the stone hewn steps. The girl sighed softly, smiling slightly as she resumed her father's work over the hearth. Her eyes occasionally and wearily drifting towards the stranger, until she got up to check up on her mother, only to find her too, still asleep. Though it didn't stop her from digging around one of the chests to pull out an extra bowl in case she did. She knelt before him as she set the cauldron to boil, her hand wiping away dry, salt and sand laden black hair away from his face hastily. To which she closely examined his face as life was slowly being injected back into it.

His face still, eerily statuesque almost, with a hawk like nose and sharp, dark eyes the colour of late evening. The only thing that seemed out of place were the four deep, white scars etched into the side of his face, faded from its finished process of healing. He stirred softly, his brow furrowing slightly under her touch. To which she immediately sit up and scamper off sheepishly.

The girl reassuming her work around the cottage silently to drag attention away from him. Her eyes now and then glancing up at him, until she noticed him wake up. Where she breathed softly and bustled away bashfully. All the while he attempted to sit up half way with much difficulty, sluggish yet somewhat panicked. Until he looked at the collection of quilts and pelts he was lying within, to which he had slowly started to relax. The man breathing a soft sigh of relief.

Though he could never notice Aerwyna at first, who was sitting by the hearth silently, uneasily, watching him intently. Albeit he had appeared weary and confused, she had altogether still found him intimidating. Especially once she caught a glimpse of his eyes,sharp regardless of how weary they were, and the colour of starless night. Yet, his dark eyes scanned his surroundings tiredly and inquisitively. The scarred man, quiet and harmless. Though it didn't take long for him to lie back down and go back to sleep as well.

Even if Aerwyna noticed he'd spent as much time half awake as he had asleep. But for the most part he had gotten a much needed rest. The young girl slowly but surely coming to the conclusion he meant no harm. Until he stirred again upon hearing Aerwyna laddle in porridge into three bowls. The man looking over at her wearily as she hesistantly approached him with two bowls in hand. Aerwyna gingerly sitting next to him on the chest next to the bench. His dark eyes still on her as he tilted his head slightly, brushing his hair out of his face. 

"Where...am I?"

He inquired quietly, in a language Aerwyna couldn't understand. The mage re-adjusting his sight to which he could properly see the small presence before him. All the while she snapped her head from the bowl of porridge she had been stirring to look at him. The girl was young, no more than fourteen years old at most, even if she looked a bit younger. Due to her small,thin frame, as lithe as she was.

The sun glistening off her skin as if it were made of polished copper, though for the most part it was broken up by a pale blue dress. Her hair dark and loose, the girl appearing to have been heavily wind blown. Yet the girl looked at him unassertively, a slight concern and disquiet reflecting within them as he settled his gaze upon her silently. Though when met with his gaze, he had slowly convinced her that he been infact, harmless. As he had a impartial almost gentle look in his eyes, as sharp and bright as they were.

"...Lie down and rest. Father will be back with help soon."

She replied timidly, but clearly. The man tilting his head, more perturbed than he was before. His mind trying to translate her words as he glanced up at her. Which proved to be a difficult task in itself as a dull throbbing pain took over his head. Something which prompted a soft and slight grunt out of him as he went to rub his temple.

"You...You don't understand Hardic, do you?"

She asked further, softly, and worryingly. To which he had slowly taken a moment to compose himself. 

"You, need me to translate for you? Where are you from then?"

She prompted further, getting more worried.

"No, no. I understand...You, you Ingatish?"

He questioned back, the girl looking at him surprised. 

"No...I'm Hilliec...I'm sorry..."

She responded softly, watching him stagger as he attempted to sit up before putting down the bowl next to her. The young girl helping him up to lean against the wall.

"Hilliec..."

He muttered softly. Too quiet for her to hear. To which he settled into a silent bout of thinking. His fingers still massaging his temple gingerly to ease his heavy migraine.   
Aerwyna frowning slightly, watching him inspect himself sluggishly as he pulled his hand away from the side of his face. A look of relief upon finding himself unharmed for the most part. 

Though he had expressed heavy annoyance at his joints with how uncomfortably stiff they felt, not to mention the dull throbbing clouding his thoughts. The stranger rolling his wrist joints to painfully readjust them so he could atleast use his hands properly. 

"I'm fine..."

He muttered back, lost in thought. Until the young girl tapped his shoulder and startled him out of his stupor. 

"Either way."

She mumbled timorously, laying the bowl of porridge she had been occupied with before gently on his lap.

"...Here...Eat. It'll help you feel better. Regain your strength a little."

She insisted, getting up to tug down some dried fish for him as he looked into the bowl, his fingers grasping the spoon indisposedly. To which she settled down the fish next to the bowl tentatively.

"O-Okay...Thank you."

He responded gently. His hand letting go of the spoon as he picked the fish up, breaking off a chunk of it to chew on it. A slight bout of relief taking over his clouded thoughts as he did so. The mage just glad to get some sustenance in his body after the ordeal that had landed him in this very cottage. His dark gaze wandering all over the room,eventually catching sight of the tapestries and adornments that took up space along the walls. 

"...I'm sorry it isn't much...but as of now it's all we have..."

He heard the girl say as she sat down across the room with a bowl of her own. The girl shrinking back slightly as his head snapped over to her, tilting his head slightly.

"....No, it's fine. It's fine girl..."

He insisted apologetically, giving her a slight, weak smile. Though it didn't do much to reassure her. The man sighing as he looked down and took a bite of porridge. 

"It really is...Thank you."

He continued politely, to which the girl nodded to him and gave him a soft welcome. Her linen dress flowing lightly around her as she got up and kneeled before the cauldron to laddle in another meal into an empty and awaiting bowl. The girl picking it up as she got up to take it to another room behind him. Persumably to the mage, perhaps to tend to another person. She looked over at him, her warm dark brown eyes kind, though still filled with a twinge of anxiety. Though as he looked back at her from his breakfast he could pick up another emotion within them; a sort of silent, ongoing sadness. Especially as she turned to the room before her.

"My apologies. I'm afraid I have other duties to attend to."

She wearied, but the man could only shake his head lightly. A mistake on his part, as he grimaced and hissed slightly at the jolt of pain it caused his strained neck and already lessening headache. The girl looking more concerned as he did so.

"You okay?"

She asked, concerned. 

"Yes."

He responded abruptly, raising one hand to press his fingers against his temple.

"No need to apologise. I understand you have someone else to attend to."

He continued sympathetically, the girl still looking at him, still worried. But she sighed and nodded softly, resuming her path back towards the quarters behind him.

"I'll be right back."

She uttered softly. The young girl eventually disappearing into the dark.


	5. A Flurry of Chaste Leaves.

The mage stirred at the sound of voices, and the cold touch of a rough hand against his wrist and forehead. A slight shiver going down his spine as he opened his eyes slightly, greeted by a kaleidoscope of shadow and flecks of light.His surroundings discernable, indistinguishable with the world of dreams and death. 

In essence he felt like he was floating in the harsh waves of the storm again, incapacitated. Until he could come to enough to make out the light. The soft streams of sunlight, hitting off of some of the little flecks of sea glass decorating the wall. As well as the fire, burning in the hearth. 

It wasn't till then he could make out the rest. The wooden walls, made out of planks with a certain sturdiness to to. As if built by a craftsman that knew boats better than he knew homes. The hooked up nets and loops of fine sinew, strung up in the sea's jewels of shells, pearls and sea glass. 

The tapestries, depicting various forms of sea life such as dolphins and seahorses, and the loom that made them. It wasn't until then he realized where he was, the cabin, the girl from the day before. 

But now the only other presence in the cabin had been two men. One dressed in a green, sleeveless tunic, peeking out from under his brown cloak like a great green tapestry as he noticed it was embroidered in depictions of chaste trees and other foliage along the hem. The chest of it decorated in a flurry of chaste leaves.

This man was thin, with long dark hair brushing his hips in a decoration of braids. Androgynous looking at first glance to the point the mage couldn't tell if he was man or woman, except for the deep voice muttering out of his lips. 

The other man dressed in a garb of brown leggings, laced sandals and a tunic of white linen, the sleeves rolled up past his elbows. His face kindly but somewhat worn with the sort of age characteristic of a middle aged man,with dark sad finch like eyes, and his hair, unlike his companion, worn rib length and pulled into a modest braid running down his back. 

His sandalled feet beating slowly against the floorboards rhythmically like a heartbeat as he paced around the cabin,talking to his new found partner with comfortable familiarity. 

They both spoke Hardic. Though, with the addition of peculiar words that seemed to be a relic from a different tongue entirely. Perhaps language borne out of this isle alone or a tongue lost to time. Even if it wasn't long until the voices faded completely into the former.

In addition to a strange accent to it that the mage couldn't make out at first and one stage had to compare it to the closest form of such he heard. Until he remembered what the girl said the night before, Hilliec, she had been Hilliec, and according to his guess, so were these men.

Though speaking of the child, she was nowhere to be seen. So what little attention he had was focused on the two men, and their relatively argumentative conversation. 

"You are aware, that if her condition is to grow worse she'll end up joining those in the Drylands sooner than anticipated Finkur?" 

The 

"Yes. So,why aren't you doing something about it? I though you said you could help!"

The green clad man sighed and sat on the bench next to the stranger. His long hair moving like a inky waterfall with plaided snakes of hair running down from a twisted crown of braids as he sat down with a scowl.

"I can care for that thing just fine."

The healer sneered silently, not out of anger or insult but out of nothing but pure blooded apprehension. For he thought the mage not just to be an outsider, but far from a defenseless one at that, someone with as much potential to be a foe as much as a friend. 

A thought to him, of such a man invading his island and territory,what he thought of as his den,deeply disturbed him. But still, he pressed on, looking at the craftsman.

"But her? Well, I did all I could, I'm afraid she's a lost cause."

He responded somberly and sullenly. But his companion did nothing but fume, quiet in his unease.

"Oh for earth's sake Hreinn, Aerwyna needs her mother! Ama needs your help! and if you think I can care for the girl alone any longer than I can now you're mistaken. I barely have enough on hand to do so already. Please. We can't go on like this any longer."

The craftsman argued, still pacing around nervously, his hands wiping his face as he sighed exsaperatedly, looking over at him sadly.

"Hreinn, please, Ama, she needs your help."

He pleaded softly,wearily. But the green clad man scowled heavily and shook his head, his cascade of fine and braided hair shifting slightly as he did so.

"...I've helped as far as I could Finkur, but I'm afraid my ability isn't strong nor knowledgable enough to bring her out of sickness, atleast in the condition she is in now."

He explained softly, watching the craftman's face fall further, to which he sighed quietly.

"I understand your frustration, Finkur. I can try, brew herbs to ease it and maybe do some minor chants, use all I know. But other than that there's nothing else I can do. I suggest it's best to her comfortable. Make sure she makes her journey in peace."

But regardless of his words, the craftsman didn't stir. To which he spoke again to him, repentant in the way he spoke.

"...I'm sorry Finkur but, it's all I can do."

It was then the girl walked in, wet with salt water with her feet caked in beach sand. Only for the child to pause upon seeing the healer's presence. She looked at him in surprise, before her face dropped in grief as she heard his words. 

After which her feet padded hurriedly out of the cabin,slamming the door behind her,which gained attention from every presence in the room. The craftsman looking at the direction she came from, wide eyed. Afterwhich he made his way to the door and opened it, yelling after her.

"Aerwyna!"

He yelled out,concerned. But all he was met with was the wind. Finkur sighed sadly,shutting the door as he went back inside. 

"...I'm sorry. She wasn't meant to hear."

He rejoined softly and apologetically to the green clad man. But his companion shook his head slightly, contrite in the way he did so.

"It's okay. I shouldn't have spoken of it here. Where she could've heard us."

He muttered, afterwhich he got up and made his way to the room behind the mage. The green adorned presence disappearing into the darkness. Which left him alone with the craftsman as his only company. The mage tried to sit up, his migraine coming back stronger than it had before. To which he hissed softly and held his hands to his temples, massaging them in an attempt to ease it. The linen clad man looked over at him and assisted him up gingerly, parental in the way he did so. 

"Careful! Careful..."

He chidded gently. After which he helped readjust him before he went to laddle in a bowl of porridge for him. The man sitting next to him where the healer once sat as he laid it infront of the scarred stranger.

"I understand you to be a Hardic man, am I correct? According to my daughter."

He voiced, clearly and amicably despite hesitation being strong in his voice. But his new found companion did not but give a small nod. His scarred face contorting slightly as he winced, to which he'd compromised with the soft utterance of a yes. But the craftsman didn't seem to mind, if anything despite his qualms, he still remained gentle,sociable, almost paternal in a way. So it didn't take long for him to resume speaking.

"...What are you called then?"

He queried softly, quiet but slightly curious in the way he asked it. The man patiently waiting for the stranger to respond. 

"....Sparrowhawk...."

The stranger replied slowly and carefully. Those,sharp black eyes of his, regarding the other man wearily. Though, not without a hint of their usual brightness as he scanned him intriguingly.

"And....And you? How are you called?"

He questioned with some effort. To which the other smiled, ever so slightly.

"Call me Finkur."

He responded lightly before he looked at the bowl on his lap and pushed it further towards him.

"But, enough of that now... you need to regain your strength."

He stated, still soft and solicitous though now with a heavily stern quality to his demeanor. To which Sparrowhawk looked away, down at his food and sighed softly. The mage eating from it carefully as not to arouse his host's harsher demeanor even further. All the while Finkur went about his duties around the cabin, fixing his tools and preparing what fish he had left from bartering off his quarry. Before he strung up the freshly prepared food to smoke over the hearth. 

As if Sparrowhawk had been nothing but just another part of domestic life. Another soul within the household to tend to. All the while he could hear the deep methodic chants start up in from the abyss of shadows behind him. No doubt the work of the companion who accompanied him. 

But it wasn't until his companion was long gone that his host's daughter returned. Her hair damp and dress still wet. Presumably from her swim in the farraige,judging from the scent of the ocean she brought with her. The girl's feet still heavily caked with sand as she walked in. She was as he remembered first seeing her. 

A small lithe figure, delicate, with a fine face, despite her otherwise straggly appearance from her time in the elements. A stark contrast to her father, a tall, broad shouldered and neat middle aged man whose face was amiable, but worn with time. Both the colour of bronzed copper. A part of him wondered how they could be of the same blood while looking so alike at the same time. 

But even if she had been from another world altogether he could sense their relationship was still a close one. For she had been a lot livelier around the man, chattering almost endlessly about her time among the cliffs. A complete departure from the timidity she'd shown him. Even if he'd chid her to wash her hands before she could help him with the food preparation. Despite her protests that they were already clean and sterilised by the sea.

She had reminded him infact, of his companions back on Iffish. How Vetch had been as jovial when Sparrowhawk had walked into the Great House that first day. But much more of Yarrow, and how she had welcomed them into their home in a time he needed his friend's companionship most.

But upon noticing his presence her sudden burst of cheery confidence diminished. As she once again closed up shyly, like a fawn disturbed by a hunter's footsteps rustling the leaves and disturbing nature. Though it didn't make her any less friendlier. 

For when she'd spot him and help her father tend to him she had been quiet but kindly. Even if for the most part the pair had let him be to rest and slowly recover as the day went on. As they travelled between the main room and the abyss behind him. They shared a meal of the usual, a malt like porridge with small chunks of what smoked fish they had left.

After which her father would entertain the cabin with his usual set of stories. All while his audience of two listened intently. Even as the girl busied herself, threading up a net of pearls and nautilus shells into a fine band of silver and alabaster. This time, it was a tale Sparrowhawk knew just as well, if not more so, as the man who told it. The tale of Elfarran. The memory of her face as she had stood there like a mage light in the star clad darkness slowly snaking into his mind.

Regardless of how hard he had tried to block out any memory of the latter half of that night. Afterwhich the man telling the tale had grown weary, stiffling a yawn. His dark eyes, sad in their warm and benign nature, gazing into the dark room beyond Sparrowhawk's view. His tall, yet surprisingly unheavy form getting up carefully to walk into the room. Which left the mage and the young girl alone.

Her gaze meeting him shyly as she gazed up at him, before darting back quickly to her work. Her doe like eyes timid as she threaded the fine lines of sinew strung up with its decoration if shell and bead into eachother. He watched her work, intrigued by the fine handiwork she'd been doing. Silent for a long while as usual before he spoke, trying his best to do so in a way as not to disturb the girl.

"....What are you called child?" 

He asked softly with the sort of gentle intrigue to his question, like a kindly parent would ask of a child. A slight, shy smile stretching out on the girl's face as she carefully tied up the ends of her finished necklace, getting up to hang it on one of the hooks, holding the crafts she had finished and prepared for sale. 

"Aerwyna..."

She responded. 

"Ah..Aerwyna..."

He repeated softly. The scarred man paused softly and thought for a moment, coming to a translation. She laughed quietly and softly, making sure everything she wove was hooked up carefully. 

"I know, father picked it out for me, since he likes to say I spend more time at sea than I do anywhere else. Comes with the territory of being a boat carpenter's daughter I like to say."

She explained amicably, a soft sentimentality in her voice, a slight smile spreading softly across the man's face.

"...A friend of the sea..."

He stated, to which she nodded, turning to smile back shyly.

"Yes!"

She chirped. 

"A fitting name then."

He replied back mildly. Aerwyna glancing back at him, tilting her head slightly as he rolled his wrist casually.

"And you?"

She questioned, somewhat intrigued. He smiled, a slight glimpse of white escaping from the gap between his lips.

"Call me Sparrowhawk."

He replied benignly. A chuckle leaving the girl's lips as she sat back down by the loom and crossed her legs.

"So alot like my father then!"

She exclaimed jovially, fixing her skirt over her legs. The mage's dark eyes perplexed, though still good natured as he queried a bit more.

"What do you mean?"

He asked, intonant in how he spoke. 

"My father. He calls himself after the Finch in our tongue, as a use-name. A bird too. He chose their name for good luck once he got his true name. But also because he always had a fondness for them."

She carried on genially and warmly, before she quieted out suddenly. Her previous bout of cheeriness disappearing as she pulled back into her shell, upon realising who she had been talking to. A stranger, a foriegner, something and someone who obvious didn't belong here, and she knew it. In the end it wasn't long until she got up and dusted off her skirt. 

"I...have to go. I suggest you get back to rest..."

The girl uttered, finishing up about the cabin. Aerwyna giving him one last glance as she made her way through the second doorway, throwing her hand up slightly in a gesture of greeting.

"Good night..."

She chirped shyly, before disappearing into her quarters. To which he sighed and returned her gesture.

"Good night..."

He replied quietly, before settling down to sleep.


	6. The Man Who Spoke to Dragons

He woke up again in the cottage suspended within the seacliffs. His third day within these walls so far. The ocean, as peaceful and temperate as it was now, crashing against the stone rhythmically like the rise and fall of the earth's breath. Though occasionally, as he'd strain his hearing further, he could even hear it chanting in nature's usual way as the waves would ease into the caves carven within the cliffs. 

For it had been a mild day, judging by the sun streaming through the window. Its warm rays of light touching his scarred face and stinging his eyes. But it wasn't long until he closed his eyes and took in the peacefulness of it. As if he was back on the sea, sailing within the South Reach. Until he opened his eyes and glanced around wearily. 

His gaze looking for another presence as besides the soft, slight sound of metal scrapping quietly and carefully against shell and the crackling of the hearth, the house was eerily quiet. The soft sound of someone at work coming from the direction of the loom.   
The only presence, besides whomever laid behind the walls he leaned against that girl again. 

The young girl sitting across the room at work once again. Her fingers delicately drilling fine holes into fragmented beads of mussel shell before threading them through a thin string of sinew. Something which she had been at he could tell, for a while now. As she'd laid out long chains of obsidian and alabaster shell beside her. The mage smiled slightly at her,watching her work.

"You have any other family?"

He asked curiously, gently so. The girl sighed as well, and looked down, glancing at the dark doorway, to which she said quietly.

"My mother...she's...she's not well though. I'm afraid I can't introduce you to her yet."

"Siblings?"

He questioned, tilting his head slightly.

"...Well, no...My mother and father couldn't have anymore children after me. So I'm afraid I'm the only child in the family."

She responded again, a bit less lowly this time. To which the cabin was met with a soft, somewhat comforting silence. 

His eyes looking around further from her to her loom to eventually the rest of his surroundings. Until he came to a piece of dried fish and bowl of reheated porridge placed on the bench next to him. A slight smile on his face as he readjusted himself carefully on the bench, sitting cross legged across from her. To which he politely took it off the chest, eating from some of it.

It...Looks like you're getting stronger...who knows, maybe you'll be able to walk now..."

He heard her speak, still timidly, but as she spoke without looking up, he could hear her inject a slight bit of a soft childish vigor into it. 

"I believe so..."

He responded, his voice deep, and a lot less thin and wiry it had been when he first spoke within these walls. He glanced up at her. The girl's attention still on her necklace, this time of mussel shells that had been bleached to a soft ivory by the sun. The mage quietly finishing the meal she had set out for him. After which he continued to watch her work, basking in the low sunlight that flowed into the cottage.

A deep sigh escaping him as he looked around, his eyes landing on the doorway that was next to him now. His head turning back to her as she finally looked up from her work, readjusting his position to where he propped one leg up, resting his elbow against his knee. Though, not without effort as he'd use the walls for support to do so. His hand shooting up sharply in a gesture as she glanced up at him and moved to help as if to indicate he was okay this time. 

But it wasn't long until he was sat up on the bench, cross legged, with his back pressed against the wall. The girl's gaze still on him before looking around to fix her make shift work station that was the floor. Her hands, occupied so heavily previously, now fixing up a long hank of sinew as she wrapped it around her hand, tying it up with a stray strand. To which Sparrowhawk watched intriguingly.

"Where are you from?"

She asked, curious and mellow as her faint voice rang out into the cottage.

"Gont."

Sparrowhawk replied, getting up slowly and carefully to resume his position. The girl looking at him astounded as she crawled up the hearth to tend to it.

"Gont? That must've been far! How on...how on earth did you manage to travel all the way here?" 

"No, I was on my way from Selidor."

Sparrowhawk replied. The girl looking even more astonished as she sat back down quietly, silent for a while until she shook her head. Her long dark hair bobbing to the side wildly as she did so. 

"Selidor?"

She repeated, a slight twinge of doubt in her voice. To which the scarred man nodded.

"The Dragons' Isle?...How on, how are you even alive? I heard alot about Selidor! From my father's stories and from the town...and...there's a reason we avoid that island at all costs. No man has ever left Selidor alive! At least before. No...no, you must've confused it for another island."

She exclaimed, shocked and confused, Sparrowhawk remaining silent before opening his mouth to speak. A slight wistfulness in his eyes as he responded to her bout of bewilderment.

"Then...what would a dragon end up doing on another isle?"

He asked lowly, the girl still silent as his voice rang out slightly like low struck iron. 

"It's not a tale....that I can reassure you. I've encountered dragons before. Once in Pendor, again in Selidor. I'm a Dragonlord you see. One who can speak to the Dragons."

"...A personal pursuit you see. On top of a necessary one. "

He explained gently. All the while he felt around his chest, obviously feeling for something underneath his tunic. A slight panic in his eyes as he felt around his chest.   
A sigh of relief escaping him as he felt a piece of ancient metal under his leather tunic press against his skin. His fingers searching his neck for its chain, until they hooked around it.

To which he gingerly pulled out a cresent of silver thread by a chain through the middle of one of the holes pierced into it. Aerwyna looked at it curiously, partially in awe. She hadn't seen such an unusual piece of jewelry before. The young girl scooting over to him timidly albeit keeping her distance to take a closer look. But he didn't seem to notice her, seemingly at all, inspecting it. 

His fingers running over the wave like designs carved into it. Before he turned it to read the runes carved on the inside of smooth backing. His eyes lingering continuously towards the one on the edge. 

"What is that?"

She asked softly, child like in the way she asked it.

"...My Talisman."

He replied quietly. 

"Ah, I like the carvings in it! Looks beautiful."

She exclaimed, with a slight smile, looking over the waves carven around each pierced hole. 

"Thank you..."

"What is it?"

She prompted curiously, to which she saw a very slight smile appear on his face, his fingers brushing against the carving gently. 

"A gift...From someone who had helped me years before. "

He explained wistfully. To which the child exclaimed, somewhat humorously.

"That explains everything!"

He smiled very slightly, a shadow of a smile, the mage speaking in a twinge of a playful reply.

"Like what?"

"How you managed to come this far alive! Much less in one piece."

She responded jovially with a very short and slight laugh. But, it wasn't long until she paused, and her face fell into worry.

"You don't happen to have any friends? Do you? Just to make sure..."

She asked, closing up more as she noticed him looking preplexed, elaborating further.

"We, we pulled you up alone."

He remained quiet for a while. The room remaining so in the usual silence that seemed to travel around with the mage where ever he went. It had a comforting air to it, the girl thought, for it in a way, reminded her of the farriage itself.

In fact to the girl he felt some what reminiscent to the seal people from her father's stories. Those born of sea foam and who could transform into a seal at will unless stripped of their power by man. She had always imagined them to be the sort who couldn't speak, for how could one speak under the deep mild waters. At least in the same manner as a average man.

For he was anything but of this world to the youngster though, she didn't know any better. As if he was also a child of the sea itself, though one actually birthed out of the waves. Which made it somewhat startling when he opened his mouth to speak again. 

"...I have, a few. And for the most part they have been the only company I usually needed. Besides the sea at least. But I usually travel alone."

He responded, yearning in a manner, before he resumed into his comfortable silence once again. Though this time, she could feel a twinge of restlessness in it as he drowned himself in his thoughts. His dark eyes staring through the window, at the ocean blue.

"...Looks like the sea hasn't been very good company to you though."

She replied well-spiritedly, before what little spirit of their previously playful remarks had evaporated completely. To which she spoke solemnly.

"...You almost died."

"From. The freezing sickness my father calls it."

She uttered out sombrely. Yet, he didn't seem phased by it, not completely, as he was awoken out of his stupor and turned to her.

"....It's fine child. I've been through worse before."

He continued quietly, to which the teenager scuffed slightly in what came off as disbelief.

"Not hard to believe."

She responded bluntly, scooting away timidly for a bit. The silence enveloping the cabin as Sparrowhaek looked around, inspecting the home. For outside of the diseased lying in rest in the room behind him, they appeared to be completely alone.

"Speaking of which, you father...."

"He's working alone today. As to not let me get hurt. He's gone outside doing repairs on the boats. Trying to find a good mast for the one you see, and carving up new oars and patch up one of the boat's prow and thwarts. Especially since the tide had been harsher than expected, and the boat my father was meant to sell as commission had gotten lost and damaged to the storm."

She explained, an answer which surprised him in a sense.

"You know quite a fair bit of boats don't you?"

He asked amusingly. To which she smiled and shrugged, chuckling softly.

"My father is a boatsman, as well as a craftsman. He taught me how to fix and sail a boat before. Though more so for fishing and bartering more so than for travelling."

She said contentedly, before her gaze turned to the ocean itself with a sort of restless yearning to them. Like someone who'd rather be on sea than confined within four walls. 

"As...much as I long to do such."

She muttered quietly, not minding Sparrowhawk as he regarded her with a sense of relatability in him, before scanning the room further. His gaze eventually coming to the rod of carven yew wood leaned up against the corner. He had been surprised it had even survived, much less what appears to him, completely intact. 

"The rod over there...in the corner. You mind   
handing the rod over to me?"

He asked, glancing over at her to find her confused, nodding his head towards his staff.

"I...want to show you something."

She nodded softly, quiet as she got up and fetched it for him, gingerly handing it over to him. Sparrowhawk sighed softly and took it from her carefully, gripping it with self reassurance. He waved her off slightly, quietly, letting her sit across from him. After which he leaned the staff onto one of the wooden planks and touched it with a slight tap. A small sprout of silver sprouting out from where the rod touched the wood. Afterwhich it grew into a sapling, baring some semblance of golden flowers. 

A look of awe spreading across her face. Until it faded away abruptly and Sparrowhawk, drained and leaned especially heavily against the walls. She turned to him concerned, getting up immediately to help him. But the mage shot up a hand to signal a halt from her as he slowly recovered, sitting up carefully and leaning on his staff.

"It's okay Aerwyna. I'm okay. I just, over estimated my own strength."

He responded with a slight chuckle. To which she sighed and sat back across from him, keeping her distance. 

"You're a wizard then, aren't you?"

She asked, a sharp,knowing nod from him being her response. After which she remained silence, her suspicions of this stranger, this man sitting here in her home confirmed. As he was in fact someone of a different world entirely. Not just in the fact he was born of different soil, but of a different calibar. Something straight out of those tales woven by her father's words every night before they retire for the night. 

Yet Aerwyna had no idea how to truely feel about it. Whether she should be more frightened by this, or in awe, intrigued even. So she remained, their once lively conversation once again broken up by silence. That same comfortable silence making a return once again. The only sound in the entire cabin the sounds of the sea and the occasional stirring as she went about the cabin.

All the while Sparrowhawk sat, lost in his thoughts, not even moving an inch. Especially as it wasn't long until Sparrowhawk had begun to lay down and fall asleep from his newfound exhaustion. To which she sighed and hesitantly went towards him to take his staff gingerly from him. The girl handling it like a dangerous object once she knew what was its purpose, and leaning it against the wall besides his bench. 

Where it remained as he slept and where it continued to remain, long after her father had walked in, weary from a long day at work. Afterwhich it had been the usual routine. But every time she tried to speak of the silver sapling, grown from floorboards by a magic rod just that day, she caught herself. She didn't want her father to know of their guest's origins, outside of where he had been from. For she didn't know how he'd comprehend his origins. Not to mention she didn't know if it had been confidential information personal to the wizard. Simply entrusted to her thorough in her mind, it didn't make sense.

So, she remained quiet, in order to give Sparrowhawk the opportunity to speak at his choosing. As not to violate his trust. Or what little of his he had instilled within her. So it remained that way. Silent. Not unlike the stranger himself as he awoke and silently followed her father's words. A man of another world, born of the sea, following another who Aerwyna rightfully thought to be born of the earth itself.


End file.
